


Burn It All

by CoffeeQuill



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Anger, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Mandalorian Spoilers, Missing Scene, Other, Pep Talk, low point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:46:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27898525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeQuill/pseuds/CoffeeQuill
Summary: “Can you live with yourself if you walk away from that child?” Fett demanded. “If you chose to leave him to his fate? What kind of Mandalorian are you to break your code and leave your foundling to them?”What kind of Mandalorian are you?---In the belly ofSlave I,there are words Din needs to hear.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Boba Fett
Comments: 63
Kudos: 352





	Burn It All

**Author's Note:**

> Since we didn't get to see what the ship ride was like back to Nevarro. A short piece.
> 
> My [Discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> [Tumblr](https://coffeequill.tumblr.com/)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/coffee_quill)

The hold sat empty.

The space in the lower belly of _Slave I_ wasn’t much but Din still paced back and forth, hands restless and never still. They settled on his belt and then crossed over his chest. Occasionally, he stopped and planted them against the wall, leaning on them as he took deep breaths, trying to clear his thoughts, trying to gain some semblance of _reality._

The child was gone.

Din snarled and whipped around, slamming the side of his fist into the _Slave’s_ wall, and the impact of hand and beskar against the metal created a solid _ring_ that echoes through the hold. The soft conversation from above, barely trickling down to him, stopped and as the ringing eased into silence, nothing filled it.

Din took a deep, ragged breath, leaning onto his forearms against the wall. “Kid,” he whispered, clenching his jaw, the storm of both self pity and feral _rage_ building inside him and yet it had nowhere to go, leaving him both blindingly furious and numb all at once. He grabbed the ball from the pouch on his belt, twitching again to throw it. It _chinked_ against the wall, flying back to hit the opposite one beside him, and eventually rolled across the floor. It stopped beside the ladder leading up and Din sank to the floor. He drew his knees into his chest and draped his arms over, staring down at the space between his feet.

_You failed._

Fett and Fennec may have pledged themselves to securing the child’s safety but Din didn’t have the belief that they seemed to have. Gideon _took_ him. He’d destroyed the Razor Crest and left nothing behind but the spear, every single one of Din’s weapons and possessions gone. His _home_ was gone, and so was the baby, stolen away from him into an Imperial _light cruiser,_ the kid’s blood probably being harvested already—

Light _thun_ sounds echoed and Din stopped. He turned and looked up at the ladder leading down from the cockpit, Fett descending from it, and he stared. He turned and leaned his helmet into his knees, eyes shut, far too in the middle of misery to care for whatever this was.

“When did Mandalorians give up on their children?”

Din’s head snapped up. Fett stood by the ladder with one hand still on a rung, looking down at him, and Din clenched his jaw as the words sparked irritation within him. “I’m not giving up,” he growled. “I’m being _realistic._ Gideon has the kid. What the hell are we going to do against a light cruiser full of Imperials?”

“Burn it all,” Fett said.

Din stared at him.

“Get up,” Fett said.

Din hesitated but pushed up onto his feet, a hand against the wall for balance. He was sore from the battle, feeling bruises from every impact his armor had taken, but he got up now.

“What have they taken from you?”

At first, he had no response. Din looked at him and Fett’s visor stared back, and at his sides, Din made fists. The material of his gloves made a sound of stretching over his knuckles and the deep-seated anger was mixed with grief. For a moment he only stood and looked down to the floor, his thoughts a whirlwind.

“My livelihood,” he said. His voice came out raspy and strained. “My tribe. My ship. The kid.”

Fett shifted his weight back onto his heels, head tilting to the side for a moment. “And what do you have left?” he asked.

His fists clenched tighter. He turned his head to the side and down, gaze finding the little gearshift handle where it sat, motionless, on the floor. “Nothing,” he spit. “I have nothing.”

“You have your armor,” Fett said. “You have your wits. And you have _us._ The Empire shattered Mandalore, but it took a godly amount of ordinance to overtake the Mandalorians. This is one man with one cruiser. One who stole a Mandalorian’s _child.”_

Din opened his mouth. _He’s not my child._ He slowly closed it again and took a deep breath, chest rising and falling with the action. He thought of the baby, clutched in the arm of one of those _things,_ looking down at Din and Fennec with frightened eyes. The mental image filled him with desolation, with misery, _failure,_ the urge to punch the wall again to feel pain over this sensation of loss—

“They took a foundling,” Fett said. His voice was tight. “They took _your_ foundling. I worked for the Empire once, but I would gladly see them burn now, and for an innocent child, it would be a small price to pay.”

“We could die,” Din said. “We probably _will._ There’s three of us now, even a few more friends cannot take on an army.”

“We _have_ the two of _us,_ ” Fett said, voice taking on a stronger growl. “We’re an army all on our own. Fennec and others are necessary, but for one raised in the Mandalorian ways you have no confidence in _why_ the Empire feared Mandalore.”

“I’m a Child of the Watch,” Din growled. “I thought Mandalorians had to cover their faces to keep their souls. I’ve lived by that since I was found. I thought the Force was something made up. Seems to me that I know _nothing_ about _anything.”_

Fett’s hand shot out and grabbed him by his bandolier, jerking him close, and Din almost stumbled. Their visors hovered inches apart. “You know you’re a Mandalorian.” His voice had a deadly edge to it. “You know an Imperial has taken your foundling. You know you have allies. That’s all you _need._ There is a mission here.”

“With almost no chance of success! It isn’t _realistic--”_

“Can you _live_ with yourself if you walk away from that child?” Fett demanded. “If you chose to leave him to his fate? What kind of Mandalorian are you to break your code and leave your foundling to them?”

_What kind of Mandalorian are you?_

Din swallowed. The words mulled over in his mind and suddenly the shame descended upon him like a storm all at once, humiliation burning through his whole body that he’d ever dared entertain the thought of abandoning Grogu — that another Mandalorian had to call it out for him to gain any reason at all.

“I don’t know what to do,” Din said, voice falling quiet.

“You get angry.” Fett released his bandolier and stepped back, allowing space between them. “You feel the rage. You let your own fire burn. And when the time comes — which it _will_ — you let that fire burn down everything they have. You turn it all to ash. Burn it _all._ And leave them with nothing left that they cared about, not after they took from _you.”_

Din stared at him. His hands trembled at his side.

“We might die. We might be too late. But that’s not what stops you from putting the Empire to the torch and doing what it takes.” Fett reached up and lifted his helmet, slipping it off, and Din felt almost a chill down his spine as the Mandalorian seemed to look straight through him into the soul he had spent so long trying to protect.

“There are few things more terrifying than a parent defending their child,” he continued. “And there is _nothing_ more terrifying than a man who has nothing left to lose. You show them why the galaxy fears a Mandalorian in war.”

Din didn’t move. Fett watched him for a moment, then nodded and placed his helmet back on, walking to the ladder. Din turned to watch him go, climbing up to the cockpit, and he felt his whole body shake with the adrenaline running through his veins. Once Fett was out of sight, he turned and looked towards the spear where it had been magnetized to the wall by a clip. With a shaky breath, he reached out and clicked open the clip, taking the spear into his hand, feeling its weight.

Fett’s words echoed in his mind.

_Nothing left to lose._

_The galaxy fears a Mandalorian in war._

Din turned and walked towards the corner. He bent down and picked up the gearshift ball, turning it over in his palm. Ashes of the Crest still clung to the inside. Din looked down into the dull metal, losing some of its shine, and slowly pocketed it. He would need it later. Grogu would want it once he was back in Din’s arms.

Din looked at the spear.

Nothing left to lose at all.

**Author's Note:**

> My [Discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> [Tumblr](https://coffeequill.tumblr.com/)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/coffee_quill)


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